


Moment In-Between

by timehopper



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Finger Sucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Hanzo pins McCree to the wall and reduces him to a desperate mess.





	Moment In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> My (very late!) monthly fic for August. The prompt was for "Hanzo holding McCree off the ground against a wall and fucking him" and because it was so late, I threw in a previous month's request too and added a bit of edging in there. ;) 
> 
> Reminder that since October is coming up, I'm doing a Kinktober event this year! More info can be found [here](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com/post/187811242951/kinktober-commissions) for those of you who are interested.

They don’t even make it to the bed. 

As soon as the door closes behind them, McCree finds himself pinned against it. Hanzo’s chest presses into him; a knee wedges itself between his thighs. McCree feels himself go weak. He doesn’t even have the chance to groan before Hanzo swallows it and forces their lips together. 

Hanzo plunges his tongue into McCree's mouth and the cowboy keens; hands tangle in his hair to hold him in place and pull him closer. He feels drunk -- drunk on contact, drunk on warmth, drunk on the taste and touch and feel of Hanzo against him.

But all of that is nothing compared to the sounds. Oh, the  _ sounds _ Hanzo is making. 

Short half-noises stutter from deep in the archer’s throat, like he’s fighting to hold something back -- or maybe he's not aware of what he’s doing at all. Breath puffs out through his nose: almost-gasps, almost-pants. There’s a rumble emanating from deep in his chest, like a wolf warning a would-be scavenger away from its prey. Or maybe warning the prey itself, still alive, still gasping for air, that it’s about to be devoured. 

McCree thinks he would like to be devoured.

Hanzo pushes in one last time, teeth clicking violently against McCree’s before he pulls away all too fast, all too suddenly. McCree gasps for breath while Hanzo takes a step back, face nearly blank but for the flush colouring his sharp cheeks. He seems so unfairly unaffected even for all the little noises he’d let slip. 

McCree’s eyes slide lazily, hazily over to him. He watches Hanzo’s eyes narrow as they rove over him in turn, up and down, stopping only to focus on the bulge in his jeans. 

“Off,” he says. “Now.” 

“Yessir.” McCree is still breathless, but he manages to get the words - word - out in one desperate exhale. He doesn’t watch Hanzo watch him as he fumbles with his belt, as he clumsily slides the pants from his legs and steps out of them, and so he misses the way Hanzo licks his lips slowly, hungrily, once again a wolf with its prey. McCree only just catches a peek of that sinful tongue as it slips back between Hanzo’s lips, back out of sight. 

Hanzo’s eyes move up to meet McCree’s. 

“I meant  _ all _ of it.” 

McCree swallows thickly. He feels his cock twitch, feels a treacherous bead of precum leak from the tip and soak into the boxers Hanzo has just told him to remove. Much as the archer wants them off, it must be a welcome sight for him: even in the low light of the room, McCree can see Hanzo’s pupils dilate and nearly black out his already dark eyes. 

McCree is a little more suave this time, a little more smooth. He removes his boxers with ease and Hanzo steps forward again, letting his shirt fall open and slip from his shoulders to the floor in a silky cascade. As soon as he’s in front of McCree again, he reaches up for the cowboy and drags him down into another ravenous open-mouthed kiss. 

McCree moans into it. His knees go weak, weak enough that it feels as if they’re going to give out beneath him. The only thing keeping him up is Hanzo - Hanzo’s hands, clenched in his hair and digging into the back of his scalp; Hanzo’s chest, warm and firm and smooth; Hanzo’s lips, keeping him tethered to the moment. 

Until he moves. 

He pulls McCree backward by the hair just as much as he pushes him forward with his body. They move as one - one step forward one step back in tandem - and it would feel like dancing if there were any push and pull, any give and take; but no, it’s all Hanzo pushing McCree back and back some more until they’re up against the wall again. 

McCree is the first to break the kiss, only after he hits the wall. He looks down at Hanzo, eyes half-lidded and hungry, mouth half-open as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Hanzo…” he starts, but a finger pressing against his lips quickly silences him. He sucks it into his mouth, flicks it with his tongue.

“Quiet, Jesse,” Hanzo murmurs, leaning in close and pressing his lips to the shell of his lover’s ear. He slips another finger between McCree’s lips and lets out a long, hot breath as teeth lightly dig into the digits. McCree sucks on them gratefully, wantonly, and Hanzo can’t help but laugh, breathy and low. 

“Desperate, aren’t you?” Hanzo purrs, and McCree moans around his fingers, brows knitting and eyes rolling back beneath their lids. It’s as good an admission as any, and Hanzo rewards him with a hand on his cock. He squeezes the base, pulls upward; McCree’s knees buckle and Hanzo yanks his fingers out of his lover’s mouth. 

“Han - please -”

“I said quiet.” Hanzo squeezes him again, but this time his free hand is there to catch McCree as he slips down, curling under one thigh and lifting it. 

McCree looks down at where Hanzo’s fingers, still slick with saliva, dig into his skin. It takes him a moment, but he does clue into what Hanzo is asking of him, and he presses himself back against the wall further, further, until he’s practically climbing it. Hanzo presses forward, slots himself between McCree’s legs, pulls them up to hook around his waist.

McCree shudders. He’s not a small man, not by any means, and especially not compared to Hanzo -- he’s got a few inches and a couple pounds on him at least, but the mere fact that Hanzo can hold him up like this, that he’s strong enough to support him without straining in the least, is enough to set an entirely new wave of lust through McCree. 

He’s pulled from his brief moment of admiration and arousal by the sensation of Hanzo’s cock pressing against his perineum, hard and hot and insistent even still in the confines of his pants. McCree he shudders again, pleasure shooting up his spine at the mere idea that soon that wonderful cock will be inside him. 

He shifts his weight against the wall and Hanzo is locked in place, McCree’s feet crossed one over the other and digging into the small of his back just the slightest bit, just enough to pull Hanzo closer to himself. He feels the slightest twitch of Hanzo’s cock through his pants and tries to grind down on it, desperately craving more pressure, more friction, but he hears that beautiful, delicious laugh again and opens his eyes to Hanzo’s gaze, dark and infinitely deep with lust. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” 

McCree shudders and leans away, the back of his head pressing against the wall. He doesn’t answer -- doesn’t have to; Hanzo steals his voice before the words can even be formed, tearing it from his throat as his teeth scrape against it. 

“The things I want to do to you,” he growls. McCree is suddenly made aware of Hanzo’s hand on his thigh again, but only by its sudden absence. The backs of Hanzo’s knuckles brush against his ass as the archer rummages for something in his pants. McCree hopes and prays it’s his cock. 

No such luck. Hanzo finds whatever he’s looking for, but it’s another moment before McCree feels something cool and slick prod at his entrance. 

“It is taking all of my patience not to take you right now,” Hanzo says, another low, dangerous, possessive rumble in his throat. “To fill you up and fuck you. To listen to you scream as I pound you into the wall.” 

“Fuuuuck, Han--”

Hanzo shuts him up with a bite to the neck. “I thought I told you to be silent.” 

“S-Sorry--” 

“Hm. Or perhaps something else, then, since you cannot seem to control yourself.” Hanzo pulls away from McCree’s throat to smirk up at him, though McCree is distracted from that gorgeous, gorgeous look by the sensation of something finally slipping past his rim and penetrating him. “Perhaps I will fuck you so hard I won’t be able to hear you over the sound of your back slamming against the wall.” 

McCree bites down on his tongue in a weak attempt to hold back the pathetic whimper that threatens to leave him. He fails spectacularly, but he can hardly care when he can feel Hanzo’s lips curl up into a smile against his neck, right beneath his adam’s apple. 

“Look at you, Jesse,” Hanzo purrs. Another finger slips in and begins to flex in tandem with the first, spreading the cowboy open with ease. “So loose already. Did you prepare yourself for me beforehand?” He drags his teeth across and up Jesse’s neck, stopping only to bite and tug at his earlobe. His fingers curl, pressing down against that spot that makes McCree’s vision go white. McCree can't stop himself: he screams. 

“Well?” Hanzo asks, but McCree can hardly hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, over the roar of pleasure that rips through him as Hanzo continues to attack his prostate. “You may answer this time, Jesse.” 

“F-fuck. N-no. No, Hanzo, I--” 

Hanzo pulls his hand out to grant McCree one brief, blessed reprieve. “You what, Jesse?”

“I just… want you. Th-that’s all.” 

Hanzo must like this answer, because as soon as he gives it McCree feels Hanzo grip him beneath his thighs with both hands as the hot, wet head of his dick presses against his stretched, sloppy hole. 

“You have me, my love.” 

And then he slams in.

McCree’s legs tighten around his waist and his arms come up to wrap possessively around Hanzo’s shoulders. He clings to him desperately, digging his blunt nails into Hanzo’s back and drawing a familiar low hiss of pleasure-pain. McCree doesn’t have the wherewithal about him to appreciate it, however; nor can he realize how much he’s clearly affected Hanzo in turn. All he can think --  _ feel _ , really, since he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be capable of proper thought again -- is  _ more, more, please, fuck, more. _

He gets there fast. Too fast. Hardly a minute passes before all of his muscles tense and McCree pulls Hanzo even closer into himself, bucking his hips as wildly as he can while he’s still pinned to the wall, just so Hanzo can keep hitting his prostate over and over--

Hanzo stops. 

He lifts one hand from where it digs into the meat of Jesse’s ass, brings it up to roughly grip the cowboy’s hair, and pulls his head back to force him back into the moment. 

“Not yet, Jesse,” he says, voice light and teasing and far too smug. “Be patient, my love.” 

Jesse doesn’t think he  _ can _ be patient, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice, so he just nods frantically, hysterically, not sure if he’s actually mumbling  _ yes, yes, anything you want, darling, yes, yes, of course _ or if he’s just imagining it.

Hanzo hums his approval, and then Jesse is rendered helpless once again. Hanzo grinds into him slowly, steadily, moving his hips in wide, precise circles. He hits just the right angle right away, and from that point on every movement is a gentle rub against McCree’s prostate, whiting out his vision and forcing unintelligible whimpers from his throat. 

“That’s it,” Hanzo soothes. He strokes McCree’s hair, pushes a lock of it out of his face, and speeds up a little bit, rocking in and out of his lover just that little bit faster, that little bit harder. And that tempo just increases and increases, gradually, until eventually McCree’s whimpers become moans become cries become screams, and Hanzo is slamming him into the wall full-force once again, almost hard enough to drown those screams. 

Just like he promised.

The build up comes quickly as it had before. That same all-encompassing pressure begins to pool in McCree’s gut; his muscles go rigid as he clamps down around Hanzo’s cock over and over again, would-be rhythmically if McCree had had enough awareness about him to control himself. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t, and he was so close, so  _ close _ \--

Hanzo stops again, this time slipping a hand between their almost-impossibly close bodies to grip the base of McCree’s cock, and McCree  _ sobs _ . He feels Hanzo’s teeth against his neck again as the assassin grins triumphantly. 

“What is it, Jesse?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know he’s torturing his lover. “Did you want something?” 

“Fuck, Han, please--” McCree is hardly coherent, but all the same he somehow manages to get the words out. “Want you, wanna come, wanna come so bad, want you to fuck -- fuckin’ fill me up, want you t’ make me -- make me  _ yours _ \--” 

Hanzo lets go of McCree’s dick and slams him against the wall. This time, he doesn’t stop, not even when McCree’s heels dig into the small of his back and his toes curl and his nails break skin. He doesn’t stop when McCree’s voice breaks from a long moan into a continuous strangled whine, doesn’t stop when Jesse comes on his dick and spills everything he’s got between their already sweat-sticky bodies. No; Hanzo only stops when he’s satisfied, when he’s drawn a second dry orgasm out of McCree immediately upon the completion of the first one.

Hanzo lets himself go with nothing but a broken groan and teeth sinking into McCree’s shoulder. McCree hardly feels the pain of it though, so far out of his own mind from the double orgasm that the only thing that grounds him is Hanzo’s cock pulsing and releasing inside him.

Hanzo breathes deeply. He does not relax, but he does not tremble, either, as he exhales and leans his forehead against McCree’s chest. He doesn’t dare let his cowboy’s feet touch the floor yet, and McCree is grateful when he finally begins to come back to himself. He isn’t sure he’d be able to stand if Hanzo let him go.

They stay like that a while longer, Hanzo still sheathed inside McCree and standing firmly between his legs. He waits until McCree unhooks his hands from his shoulders and pats his head, a familiar signal of  _ I’m fine. I’m here. _

He gently lowers McCree to the ground, and McCree wobbles a little bit. His legs are still unsteady, and Hanzo can tell, so he wraps an arm around his lover’s waist, leads him to the bed, and helps him sit down on its edge. 

Hanzo leans forward and kisses McCree deeply, one hand on either side of the cowboy’s face. “You were so good for me, Jesse,” he coos. “So good.” And it’s all McCree can do to answer, to nod and laugh breathlessly against Hanzo’s lips. 

“You say that like you ain’t the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.” He reaches up and runs a hand through Hanzo’s long, tangled bangs, still damp with sweat. “Gotta say, sweetheart, I don’t think anyone’s ever been able to lift me like that before.” 

“And no one else will get the chance.” 

_ No, _ McCree thinks as Hanzo kisses him again.  _ I ain’t lettin’ you go for anything in the world. _

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> If you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1122210346939244544). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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